Love Under the Hot Lights (Scripted for Love Book 1) Page 2

  A locked-tight gated community and tight-ass security for his private beach blessed him with a view he could actually enjoy. The ocean was one of the few things that calmed him. He turned to open the sliding glass doors and slammed his toe on an end table. “Fuck! Shit!”

  He dropped into the chair and checked his toe to find a torn nail and a welling of dark blood. Disgusted, he lowered his foot to the floor. Great end to a fucked-up day.

  The sound of the waves crashing against the shore reached him, and he pulled in a breath. There was nothing better. Except maybe surfing. He was never more free than when tethered to a board.

  He was like the waves he loved to watch and ride. His life would build momentum, crest, and then crash and scatter until it no longer resembled anything he recognized. Certainly nothing he intended, anyway. Sometimes the result would be terrifying, and nothing in the world would make him go back in, but then he’d remember what all his surfer buddies would say: “Eddie would go.” That’s all it took, that one phrase.

  Seeing Sam had brought all his memories crashing back. She still wore her dark hair long, and her large brown eyes appealed to him as they always had, making him want to trust her—against his better judgment. After she’d left the cafe, he and Martin had stood watching her. The silence had stretched until another patron walked through the doors and broke the uncomfortable spell. Martin had grabbed Gage’s shoulder in an encouraging grip. “She’ll come around.”

  Gage wasn’t too sure. He was a reminder of everything she wanted to forget.

  No matter what might have passed between them once upon a time, things were different now, and she’d walked away from him. Again.

  He remembered her determined good-bye the night they’d met.

  He remembered the overwhelming pressure in his chest as she’d turned on her heel and walked away, long brown waves flowing down her back.

  No looking back.

  Admiration and respect would have been the logical response to her fidelity. She’d had integrity, kept her promises, her vows, but he’d been unable to muster even the slightest hint of logic. Pain had taken over as he’d watched her leave.

  Fuck me.

  He’d tried reaching out to her after the accident, shocked when he’d found out the other car was Ethan’s, but she’d refused him then, too. Blamed him.

  Gage shook his head, and the same pressure squeezed his chest. The knowledge he’d be seeing her again, and soon, kicked his heart up to a steady beat. Anticipation? Fear—dread.

  He walked out to the balcony, giving the table a wide birth. Leaning his forearms against the cool metal, he gripped his hands together.

  He and Sam had shared a few stolen hours where nothing had existed but the two of them, connecting unlike anything he’d known. But that was two years ago.

  He slammed his hand on the railing. The whole situation was total bullshit. There was nothing between them now, but a part of him wanted nothing as much as he wanted her to admit that something had passed between them then. Hell, he wanted them to find it again. He couldn’t say he wanted her back because he’d never really had her. But he’d never felt with any other woman what Sam had made him feel.

  His eyes rested on his surfboard storage box. A few minutes out in the waves beckoned him, and he ducked back inside for his wetsuit. His shoulders relaxed, and a rush of adrenaline filled him.

  Many things had changed in the past couple of years, and he was one of them. He wouldn’t take off on a drinking binge or speed in his car until he outpaced his problems. That was behind him—mostly.

  He’d be a professional and give Martin his best film yet. It seemed like he could shit in a bucket, and they’d still give him an Oscar, but that wasn’t enough for him anymore. It was time to show Hollywood what he was really made of, and as far as Sam went, he’d win her over and show her what they could be made of.

  People talked about second chances, and this was his.

  Chapter 2

  The following week, fueled with guilt and mortification, Sam walked onto the film set with hot coffee in hand. After everything Martin had already done for her, he was giving her a second chance to save her career. A calm washed over her, kind of like coming home. The area buzzed with controlled chaos, but as the production got underway, that control would be a longed-for memory. She smiled.

  “No coffee for me?”

  Sam stopped in her tracks. That warm baritone voice slid down her spine again in a wave of goose bumps and knotted her stomach. Goose bumps were not what she needed right now; a huge black hole to jump into would do much better.

  You’re a professional, Sam. Yeah, a professional who spent an extra hour on her makeup and changed her clothes three times before finally leaving the house that morning. Of course, her nerves were due to her first day back on the job, not seeing Gage.

  Pulling her bag higher on her shoulder, she switched her coffee from her right hand to her left. Where was the brave woman she used to be? Finding that woman was one of her new to-do’s. Sam braced herself, then turned with her hand extended. She could pretend all day he didn’t make her nervous as hell. “Good morning, Mr. Cutler.”

  Eyes lit with humor, Gage grasped her hand. She watched her fingers disappear within the warm heat of his strong grip. The sight of his muscular shoulders startled her, and she was at once aware of his warmth. Sam withdrew her hand, forcing herself to move slowly though she felt the urge to snatch her hand back as a bolt raced through her limbs.

  He raised his left brow, and she met his gaze head on, shoulders pulled back, and stretched to her full five feet, eight inches.

  His lips quirked up on one side, a crooked smirk she was well acquainted with. “I’m surprised to see you.”

  She opened her mouth to throw back a quick retort, but her need to apologize filled her instead. “Look, I…”

  Those blue-green eyes shimmered with something she couldn’t name. Sam averted her gaze as if there was something of interest over his shoulder, shifting from one foot to the other. Looking at him directly was disconcerting, and his steady gaze knocked her off-kilter.

  He was irresponsible and arrogant. A playboy with a toy box of Hollywood starlets. She’d known it way back then, and she knew it now. Nothing had changed.

  Except everything had changed.

  She glanced back at the larger-than-life actor for a brief moment. Formal, professional, that was how she’d handle this situation. “Well, good luck with the film. I need to go speak with Mr. Gallagher.”

  Gage pressed his wide mouth into a thin line and dipped his chin. “I’m glad you’re here, Sam.”

  She tried not to think about why hearing her name from his lips raised the hairs on the back of her neck, but she couldn’t ignore the sensation. “I need this chance. I’m here for me.”

  Sam paused. It wasn’t like her to be so direct. At one time maybe, but she’d lost that woman somewhere along the way.

  A warmth rushed through her chest. She was there for her, and Martin was helping her make that happen. Her life had been out of her control long enough. She couldn’t say how terrified she was of messing up and not being taken seriously. That would be the quickest way to undermine her chances, but she felt the fear to the very end of each limb.

  His features tightened with focus, and the muscles of his jaw twitched.

  She wanted to smooth his brow but squeezed her cup with both hands instead, popping the top off. “Oh!” Grabbing the plastic lid before it hit the ground, she stepped around him and made her way toward Martin. She couldn’t escape fast enough.

  “Damn, damn, damn.” She wound her way around lighting, cords, boxes, and racks. You are ridiculous, Samantha Anne Dekker. Her throat thickened.

  She shook her head and mumbled, “Doesn’t matter.”

  “What doesn’t matter?”

  Startled, Sam slapped her hand to her chest. She stepped back, stumbling into one of the crew members, sending him reeling.

  Martin grabbed her by t
he upper arm. “Whoa, slow down. You okay?”

  Sam glanced about, mortified. Gage stood where she’d left him, watching, his hands hanging limp at his sides, an unrecognizable expression on his face. Of course he caught her stumble. She shook her head, embarrassment warming her cheeks. God, just kill me now.

  The camera guy made a much more graceful recovery and disappeared with a wave. She closed her eyes a moment and then turned back toward Martin. “You scared me.”

  His black brows lifted. “You scared me.” He stacked a few boxes and then, relieving her of her bag and coffee, set them on top. He gestured toward a chair. “Have a seat. Now, what doesn’t matter? Because if it has something to do with my script, every word matters.”

  Sam waved his words away. “No, no. Nothing with the script. Just talking to myself.” She glanced around at the hustle and bustle of the film set. “You guys have made good progress.”

  Martin smoothed his hand over his bald head, then around to his chin, scratching through the white, groomed whiskers. He took in all the commotion.

  She trapped him with a look. “I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”

  “You took time off. Time you needed. A year and a half now, isn’t it? Time to get back to work. Both Raquel and I understood how torn up you were.”

  Sam’s gut twisted. “Martin, I’m just getting back on my feet, figuring out what to do next. I’m like a first draft of a manuscript. I need a little time to work out the edits. Are you sure you want to take this risk?”

  “‘In Hollywood, writers are considered only the first drafts of human beings.’ Do you remember who said that?”

  Sam dipped her head. “Frank Deford. You taught me everything I know.”

  “That’s right, which is why I want you and no one else. Besides, I don’t think all the edits in the world are going to help you, kiddo. Life’s a rough draft. You just gotta live it. Starting now.”

  He settled his hand on top of hers and squeezed. “You’re a writer, Sam. It’s in your blood. You’re too intelligent to waste such a gift.” He tapped the script she’d pulled from her bag and set on her knees. “So, what do you think?”

  Sam let the activities on set act as white noise as she flipped open the pages of the screenplay. She’d been studying it all week. Something impeded the sincerity of the scene. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she was close. She needed to get out and take a swim; that always opened her up, set her mind free. She’d found a great place on Pepperdine’s campus where she loved to go. She really needed to get back into a routine. How long had it been?

  “What do you think?”

  Fidgeting with her pen, she tapped a section of the screenplay. “It’s right here.” She rolled her head from side to side. “I’m a bit rusty, but I’ll find it.”

  Martin leaned close to take a look. With a sigh, he reached into his front pocket and slipped on his reading glasses.

  Sam glanced at him and smiled. “Aw, don’t you look scholarly.” She stood, moving closer to the set, and Martin followed.

  “Don’t be a pain in my ass.” He shook his head. “I agree there’s something wrong, but this scene? The dialogue’s tight. The pacing perfect.”

  “Yes, but there’s something—”

  “Quiet on the set.”

  Sam edged in to get a better view.

  Gage’s character faced his mother for the first time about his diagnosis. The actor who played his mother expressed her emotions in a way that left Sam raw and unsettled.

  Gage spoke. Sam leaned closer.

  Her heart squeezed; the obvious regret he suffered ate at him more than the cancer ever could.

  Sam’s stomach tightened, and she blew out a breath on a slow, steady count.

  This is not real.

  She snapped her fingers. “That’s it.”

  “Cut!” The producer sent a searing glance toward Sam. She waved with a small shrug. “Sorry.”

  Scooting closer to Martin, she gestured toward Gage. “His feelings come across real and raw, which is perfect. But he’s delivering them too soon.”

  Gage glanced over. “Too soon?” There was no mistaking the offense in his voice.

  Sam smiled to herself. Actors. Spoiled little crybabies.

  He strode toward them, and she immediately regretted saying a word.

  She stood. “No, no, there’s nothing wrong with your performance. You don’t need me or anyone else to tell you how talented you are. But—”

  He raised a brow, and if her palms weren’t slick with sweat and her heart wasn’t beating a mile a minute, she’d have wanted to chuckle.

  “Your character left his mom for the big city, the fast pace and opportunity. You’ve portrayed him as a fast talker, slick and experienced, but with his mom, he’s patient, calm. I simply think it’s too soon.” She took a breath. Big mistake. His cologne clouded her senses, and she swore the heat of his body radiated right through her. “What was I saying?”

  Martin raised his brows.

  Oh my God, pull it together. “Oh, right. When people go home, they tend to revert to their former selves, but he hasn’t been home long enough. I think you need to fight settling in too soon.” She glanced from Martin to Gage to the producer. “Does that make sense?”

  Gage nodded his head slowly. “Brilliant catch.” He turned and walked back to his place on the set. “Let’s run through this again.”

  The command for silence was delivered, Martin whispered in Sam’s ear. “I agree. Brilliant.”

  Relief washed over her, and she repeated her new mantra over and over again in her head. I can do this, I can do this.

  Her phone vibrated, and she slipped outside to answer it, needing to shade her eyes with her hand. “Hello?”

  “Oh, good. You’re alive.”

  “Mom?” She lowered the phone from her ear and confirmed the in-coming number. Shit. She should have checked first.

  “Hey, Mom. I’m at work.”

  “Finally.”

  Sam smiled. “Tell me how you really feel.”

  “Are you coming to dinner Sunday? You’ve missed the last dozen, I swear.”

  Sam rubbed the sudden tension between her brows. “Mom, it’s just not a good time. I’ll try soon.”

  “Sam.”

  She hated disappointing them. “I gotta go. Break’s over. I love you. Dad, too.”

  “Sam—”

  Sam disconnected the line, then dropped her phone into her pocket. They were always good to her. Supportive. Even when Ethan hadn’t come to dinner with her for the umpteenth time because of work, they’d just nodded and smiled.

  She walked to the edge of a rocky slope and looked out over the valley, a spotting of trees and cactus, large rocks, and a colorful burst of wildflowers. A burst, the only way she could describe the effect.

  She was on a mission to take back her life, and she’d do it, too. But she was scared. She might not be good enough for a job like this. Ethan might have been right all along. For a second, she’d thought Gage might reject her idea and Martin might agree with him. It could have all been over just like that. “I’m an idiot.”

  “Now I know you’re talking to me.”

  Sam whirled around. Off balance, she flailed her arms to keep from teetering down the slope.

  Gage grabbed for her, pulling her onto even ground.

  Unable to catch her footing, she landed against the hard planes of his well-built chest, and the impact emptied the air from her lungs. Her hands grabbed onto his unyielding biceps, the result of a personal trainer and dietician, no doubt. No wonder celebrities were so beautiful.

  Pulling back, she put her hand out and pulled in a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Thank you. You scared me,” she stammered.

  He tried to steady her, but she took another step back.

  Gage studied her, and she wanted to fidget under his gaze. “I didn’t mean to, but I can’t say I’m displeased with the outcome.”

  She stared at him.

&
nbsp; “Your call was spot-on.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Thanks, but the talent is yours.”

  His strong, capable hands played across his chest and rubbed. Mesmerized, Sam couldn’t force her eyes back to his face. Her mouth suddenly dry, she tried to swallow. What is wrong with me? She moved to step around him.

  He blocked her way. “Do you still hate me?”

  Shocked, she stilled. “Hate you? I don’t—”

  “You won’t even look at me.”

  Guilt tightened along her shoulder blades, and she turned around. “I don’t hate you.” She gripped her hands together at her waist. “Everything fell apart, and Ethan took his own life.” But not until he made sure Sam suffered, too. She shoved the thoughts away. “I took it out on you, and then the paparazzi, the tabloids, they hounded me for almost a year.”

  Gage held her with an intense gaze. “I wanted to help. I tried to call, but you shut me out.”

  She wished it could have been that easy, but she’d been so angry, and whether he’d been to blame or not, he was reckless; if it wasn’t his driving, it was the women. Two women had actually come to blows in public, each thinking she was dating him exclusively. Everyone knew it. The news, the papers, never mind the tabloids, interviews from friends and family, every single one confirming his recklessness. His help would have only made things worse. As it was now, associating with him, even professionally, was going to make the paparazzi salivate.

  “I couldn’t take your help, especially after blaming you. And I can’t risk any of that being stirred up again.” She took a step back and shook her head.

  He cut his hand through the air. “You think you were the only one hurt in this? You don’t think I don’t know what the news said? The papers? All lies. I was sober that night, heading home from Pepperdine’s Smothers Theatre.” His voice dropped. “Ethan and I were in two left turning lanes; I was on the right. When the light turned green, we both took the turn but he’d accelerated faster. The paparazzi sped out to cut me off but must not have seen him. Their car hit his, broadside, and sandwiched him between them and a power line pole.”